Perfect Little Doll
by MoonlightOnAconite
Summary: Everything was a distraction, Muraki's response so dizzying and dangerous with lust that the woman beneath him hadn't noticed until it was far too late to object. "My perfect little doll," pale lips hummed against her jaw, pressing a kiss to the base of her neck right where the jugular vein pulsed with life beneath the taut, heated skin. "You'll soon be my perfect little doll."


"You are positively flawless..."

Muraki's voice was low, chilled, and subdued instantly by the dark, cold air. Each little breath of his was measured, almost as calculated and precise as a musician's score, but also as musical as the sounds of the notes themselves. Closing one's eyes and hear a voice so calm and so soft, one could imagine the doctor was a narrator, a quiet spirit, or perhaps just a timid little soul with plenty of potential. Dr. Kazutaka was gifted with potential, yes. He was extremely intelligent, and thus adding to his many charms with an angelic look of platinum blonde hair, soft silver eyes, and a slender, tall posture, the man was definitely something. But potential of the wrong kind, he possessed, so much so that it was deadly.

Those silver eyes were sharp now, even in the extremely dim candlelight. The wire frames of his glasses barely held back the piercing stare, but could not subdue the sheer chill from his gaze. His expression was hungry and dark, though his smile indicated otherwise. But what was going on in his mind at the moment was a little less than savory, and the odd look alone would make one wonder if he really were going to delicately consume this woman, like the predator stalking it's prey. Unnerving wasn't the right word to describe Muraki's expression, no. It was the look of an unhinged killer, a psychopath, and in all respects, that's exactly what the man is. Hiding from behind such charm and a falsely gentle disposition would always do him wonders, just as it had done tonight.

Muraki was a man of trivialities and indulgence from time to time. In his medical profession, he was paid well as it was by the hospital. Combined with the underground operations and his hands dabbling in the biological black market, his bank accounts held riches even his enticing personality could not exude. When you feign the part of a suave gentleman, and you look the style of a wealthy man, you become one. And the women and men alike in this bustling heart of Tokyo were mostly business, and the physician learned early on in the game that if one were to offer advice or opinion, it was all about the reputation for validation. Oh, and what a reputation he had procured. The brilliant and wonderfully caring medical doctor to many more patients in this area than he even cared to remember. It was an eternal alibi that served him well many, many times. There was no need to even dress the part; it was no longer news to him that people whom he had never met personally knew his name. Alright, so perhaps he got his hands wet with the stock market and some investments as well, but it only served to better his cause of playing innocent and sliding under the radar.

But he wasn't about the money in the slightest. It was an emotional burden, something much less tangible than most people believed, that drove Muraki to his work. It was a topic he'd rather not discuss, just as he had informed this woman tonight at the restaurant only a few hours earlier.

She's a beautiful woman and she knows it, he thought. Her eyes gleamed with just a tinge of hazel, and the makeup surrounding it gave her an almost naturally lustful look. Her lips were pink and full, unmarred by lipstick, and when she had laughed, they parted so elegantly that it was apparent it was in her nature to be so suave. Such a delicate frame, she possessed. The fitting black dress she wore made her look positively appetizing under the candelabra hanging above the dining table. Subtle curves and a defined face only added to her beauty, and Muraki couldn't resist any longer. Sweet talking and smiling was his speciality, and with each glance, each "accidental" brush of his hands as he led her through the night of a wonderful dinner, feeding her dessert, and then a small dance filled with soft laughter, he drew her in closer to him.

This lady in particular was an easy one to bait, he soon discovered, when by the time they barely stepped out of the restaurant, her arm was linked with his and her head was resting on his arm. Close, she was so close to him, Muraki could practically feel her body heat against his side. The walk to his home was silent, and she never objected, not even when he placed a kiss just short of her lips. She returned with one of her own, and before long, they were sliding through the door to his bedroom, tongues and bodies fighting each other for dominance in the heated kiss. He was always a gentleman to let his dates enjoy themselves, at least for a short while. Kisses burning with lust, and bites sharp and passionate, slide their way over her bared body. Everything was a distraction, his response so dizzying that she hadn't noticed until it was far too late to object.

"Let me go!"

She screamed loudly now, snapping him instantly out of his thoughts. Silver eyes fell to the naked body displayed to him across his bed, and this time, it was not something of carnal desire, it was admiration. Her body, each curve, each little tinge of pink that spotted across her skin, was something that he now owned. It belonged to him, and him alone; he would have her forever. Now, if she would just stop that horrid screaming and pulling at the ropes that gently restrained her wrists and ankles (he simply couldn't have her bruise, oh no, that would never suffice)...

The doctor licked his lips, further loosening the white dress shirt that hung open to reveal his pale, toned chest.

"Come now, my dearest, don't scream and fret so. Please don't...," his voice was as smooth as silk, and for a moment, he could clearly see the fight slide out of her gaze as she heard his tone. But as quickly as it was gone, it resurfaced with another wave of thrashing and loud, ear-splitting screams in sheer panic.

"Beautiful, so beautiful...," Muraki murmured softly, gaze never leaving the woman before him. Deft fingers slid into his jacket pocket to caress the syringe that sat within the fabric. With a practiced movement born of countless times of this practice, the needle was uncapped and the glass shaft sat firmly between his thin fingers. He moved then, body arching slightly against the woman, and when his lips trailed down to her neck, he swore he could taste the adrenaline seeping from her veins. How sweet it tasted, to hold such power.

"My perfect little doll," pale lips hummed against her jaw, pressing a kiss to the base of her neck right where the jugular vein pulsed with life beneath the taut, heated skin. "You'll soon be my perfect little doll." His chants were soft and whimsical, the lilt to his voice provoking her to only scream more, conflicted by the menacing air about the man, though his voice and touch was so, so alluring. The needle slipped into skin without hesitation, and his tongue darted out to lick a droplet of blood before it slid down her neck.

"My doll," Dr. Muraki kept chanting even as the woman lost consciousness beneath him. "My perfect little doll."


End file.
